undertow
by nervedamaged
Summary: Death is final, frozen like his soul in a Winter blizzard, but when Red is the colour Jace clings to - can the colour alone pull him from depths of the shadows to be amongst the living again? Clary/Jace FanFic - Rated T for later chapters. Will be updated every couple of days - watch this space! If you like what's written please review, all & any comments are greatly appreciated x
1. statue

undertow.

**Chapter One**

He'd been dying for months now, this wasn't new territory to him and yet he still felt as if he'd not been given enough time to accept what would eventually happen to him when the world finally turned dark. God had a cruel sense of humour when the symptoms started to act out into his daily routine. He no longer just felt sick and nauseated – a couple of weeks ago it was twinned with the way his body started to fail slowly and surely every day that passed... it made him wish the end was just around the corner.

The day his pale broken skin peeled off his knuckles when he'd hit the wall in a moment of delirious anger was followed closely by the morning his tears dried up no longer able to protect his eyes in the stinging wind as he walked through the unprotected catacombs of The Institute and when balance started floating away from him, he knew it was more than just the alcohol that comforted him each night that was the cause. No amount of iratzes that decorated his torso soothed the ache. His muscles seized up between rounds of training and a couple of days later his stomach contents ended up all over the bathroom floor spotted with flecks of blood.

He'd died before. He was sure it was only in a dream, but it was never as painful as living these death days... he'd just slipped away then, falling on a cloak of petticoats and she was there, the woman who bore him, mother...

It wouldn't be long. He'd wished for summer before his passing, desperate to feel the sun upon his bruised and cracked outer shell, the grace it provided as it soothed every wrong he had yet to right. There were so many wrongs Jace had left to right... Not least the fact that he had neglected to mention to Alec or Isabelle that he was in fact dying and not just sick with the Winter chills and an abominable flu bug that kept him awake every night with excruciatingly painful nightmares. His nightmares featured only one thing. Red. Red, red everywhere, chasing him, biting him, enveloping him and bleeding with him... Red. A colour that was clear in it's absence from his life. Red was killing him, red bled from his mouth and danced behind his eyes when he couldn't breathe. Red cradled him in a deep hold with no mercy and whispered it's chilling words in the deepest, darkest of nights. It curled around his heart and squeezed, questioning why he was still alive.

Red.

His damaged mind remembered Red... it was a fleeting memory, like a dream of something he once loved, but like the broken pieces of skin that cracked and showed red oozing out – his memories of the red love faded as swiftly as a Winter blizzard that whipped around The Institute on an smog filled afternoon late in January; it's visual disruption pulled at Jace's heartstrings... could he have cried at that moment he would, his soul, able to do that which his eyes could not, sang in the haze for all and everything he had lived for these passed 17 years. A memory danced across his features and he remembered it a small smile creasing the side of his lips.

He carefully, thoughtfully penned his note to Alec and Isabelle, it was by far the hardest thing he had had to write. Saying goodbye to friends is hard, how do you say goodbye to family? Family as pure and divine and as big a part of your existence as you yourself.. His breathing was shallow as he threw the cloak over his shoulders, his stele left next to the note on Isabelle's bed. The cold had advanced up his arms, creeping into the bones as it invaded his body like a ghost.

It was time.

Stealing out of the wooden doors of The Institute and slipping down the stairs onto the street below, his purposeful walk hampered by the freezing wind, eyes burning beneath the hooded cloak; the creaking joints and itching between his shoulder blades. He hunkered down and strode away from all he had ever known, all who had ever loved him and all his heart had ever dared to love in return. He was still a number of blocks away, the further his body gave way the more the anxiety of not reaching the target hit his nerves sending bolts of angst fuelled lightning coursing through his veins.

It was as alive as he had felt since this farce had all begun.

When his feet half dragged, half glided through the gates of his destination; the Trinity Church Cemetery; his lungs vomited out a spluttering sigh of relief and when he found the person he'd been looking for all along his face contorted, eyes blinking, raggedly dry throat swallowing and the tears would not come but the pain remained etched on his face. He knelt, one hand leaning on the tomb for balance, the other, washed with wax like fingers brushed over the embossed letters like they remembered what his heart no longer could. His discarded cloak lay beneath other abandoned clothing as Jace peeled off his shirt, the runes barely visible on his colourless skin, the shirt floated to the snow covered grass, ivory coloured feathers drifted out and blended with the white nestled all around the tombstones, cushioning the loved ones lost.

_I should go now quietly,_

_For my bones have found a place to lie down and sleep..._

… _In the darkness I will meet my creators_

A shadow unfurled behind him, building up in the background, stretching tall and thin into the air above him; crawling now Jace pulled his beaten body into a stoop atop the tomb that scripted _"Celine Herondale"_ on it's face – the shadow rose up unfolding in it's glory two perfectly sculptured wings, twice the height of Jace's bony and fae like figure, they stretched gracefully to the sky gently shielding him from the fierce wind and slowly falling snow, billowing out demanding attention from the lifeless graveyard around him. Jace's hands were the first to turn, feet followed mere seconds later, his legs freezing, blending with the tomb below him. One last breath forced from his lungs, a puff of air escaped his lips and there he remained... another willowy concrete angel posed over the grave of his mother who'd died before he was born.

The last thing his frosted eyes saw in the distance dancing in the midst of graves... Red... amongst trees hit by the blizzard that froze his soul...

-  
_(Lyric Credits: "Smother" by Daughter")_


	2. youth

undertow.

**Chapter Two**

She flicked the spark wheel of her cigarette lighter, the flame rose slowly from its enclosure a strong blue colour before turning orange as it licked the air in front of Clary's face. She let the clasp go and the light was gone just like that, what was once was so strong before suddenly was no more. Her thoughtful expression continued to stare blankly ahead as she repeated this step a couple more times before introducing the cigarette to the curling flame. It wrapped around the tip, kissing the sides as it smouldered and burned letting off a crisp smoke as the flame danced with it for a few more seconds then was cut out just as quick as a click of the fingers. She drew the smoke into her lungs, it coursing down her throat embracing her windpipe as if they were old friends.

Her friends had once described it as setting fire to their insides for fun, something she's never really understood until now. It was new to her, this need to crave something potentially life threatening, something that could just cut her down in her youth. She had her reasons and they were just as fucked up as everyone else's her age but not everyone her age had lost someone they held so dearly close to them that when they were gone it felt like their hearts had been ripped out and buried with them.

Clary drew in another puff. Her eyes watering.

She'd stopped coughing after every breath, last week, now she'd made it more convoluted than ever before and the arches around her closed in tighter, claustrophobically close like they knew her dirty little secret and pretended to hide her behind pillars till she'd finished. It was quiet here, she liked it that way, just her and her thoughts – it was peaceful where her life was otherwise not and the silence of the cemetery was a great deal better than the silence of an empty house full of grieving paintings and an old life she forgot she ever had happiness in before.

As the snow fell in flurries around her waist and lower limbs she held out her hand and allowed flakes to settle on her black and white patterned mittens. Had she not let go completely of everything her past self had to offer what Clary did next would have seemed all too immature for her to comprehend. As the blizzard picked up; the snowfall became more frantic and her heart longed to dance in it like she had done when she was 5, when you were spinning in a chaotic circle round and round and round everything merged into itself and the one thing you need think about was not falling over... you would fall in the end, sick to you stomach, dizzy and devoid of senses... but when you fell over and you were 5, there was always someone to pick you up, dust you off, set you right and watch laughing as you did it again.

Clary flung herself out from under the arches; arms outstretched spinning around like a wild girl her red hair dancing with her, splayed out in all directions, snow falling all around her, meeting her skin with a cold sting and sprinkling snow-dust in her hair. At some point the cigarette slipped from her grasp and disappeared in the undergrowth, the snow continued to whip around her and before long her head tilted back looking high into the gray sky she opened her mouth and let out a small laugh of absolutely, undeniable joy...

Is this what freedom felt like? Being a child for once and not having to face the adult life you were so cruelly catapulted into against your freewill?

Clary didn't care, for a moment she felt that freedom, felt a little of what people described as "your heart soaring" - the graves around her melded and she forgot where she was; forgot that down the way somewhere was a grave for a family member. Her spinning came to a bitter end when her shin collided with the tombstone next to the one she had come to visit. The one she had visited every day since they had lowered the coffin in the frozen ground. The dizziness and sickness that followed her recent flight of freedom was accompanied by bile when guilt flooded her for the lack of respect she had to dance over the graves of those already passed. She gagged a little wishing she'd passed on lunch before coming down here.

Her heart hurt.

Coming to a standstill at the headstone Clary reached into her pocket and pulled the lighter out, flicking at the spark wheel again, she lifted another cigarette into the flame and puffed. She felt warm liquid trickling down her leg and seeping into her sock. Another puff and a cough quickly followed.

_And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones...  
'Cause most of our feelings, they are __**dead**__ and they are __**gone**__..._

Simon had tried to guilt trip her this morning – her head though still recovering from dizziness remembered him pulling the cigarette from her mouth, stomping on it and exclaiming that she'd kill herself like she'd killed her mother... He'd looked at her aghast, he hadn't meant to go that far, his glasses slipped down his nose and he pushed them back up hurriedly attempting to explain his loose mouth and his equally loose words.

"_She'd kill herself, like she killed her mother"_

She'd stared at him blankly, tears pricking her eyelids as she tried so desperately not to cry, her breath came in ragged gasps and she had hit out at him, pushed him and denied his explanations entry to her ears as she ran away, her vision blurred by the tears that flowed so freely now. She didn't get very far before she was heaving through her corrupted lungs like they were made of paper. And somehow she had found herself here; here in the midst of one of the worst Winter blizzards hiding out in a cemetery with her dead mother.

Looking down at the cigarette in her hand, it's glowing tip so bright in the grey haze that continued to snow around her. It was a comfort she thought she needed, thought it helped her to get over the death of her mother, but the real reason was that by systematically sucking the smoke into her lungs Clary felt in control. She had wondered when the hurt would stop, only to realise that the hurt she felt was inflicted onto her by her own hand and not that of her mothers passing. Lifting her gaze from her mothers onyx black marble headstone her eyes met a new figure gracing the next plot over from where she stood; the elegant tomb had a stone angel rising magnificently from it's face; triumphant, yet loving and almost sorrowful, giant wings unfurled above him, a sweet angelic face.

Clary sank to the ground, her hand reaching out for her mom's name on the headstone;

"Oh mom, I miss you so much... I don't know where to turn. I'm so lost without you... I wasn't ready for you to go and more than anything in the world I am so so sorry that it was because of me..."

She stayed that way for more than an hour; her heart achingly burning out word after word as if her mother was standing only a few feet away alive and well. She talked about Simon and their scuffle that morning, she apologised for starting a habit that endangered her life and promised not to pick up another stick. Her heart reached out to her step dad Luke who had all but fallen apart when Jocelyn had left him and her daughter alone in the world. Eventually, when there was no more to say, Clary kissed her hand and stroked her mother's name etched into the elegant marble stone and whispered her goodbyes;

"I love you mom, see you tomorrow..."

Stiffly she hauled her body up and slipped the mittens back over her chilled hands, taking in a lungful of uncorrupted air, adjusted her hood and glanced up in the direction of the stone figure one last time... "Oh to have wings..." she thought "Freedom..." she whispered.. and disappeared into blizzard, red hair billowing out of her hood.

The stone that held the angel high above it's shimmering face, glinted in the snow and not due to the sun. It's corner edge had been shunted by the spinning of a girl hidden in utmost joy, a girl who dented her shin and bled the colour red into it's base. It dribbled down the white stone and soaked into the grass below. And for a time nothing happened; the stone was stained but only slightly. When a crack broke across the stone and a chunk of rock slipped from the angel statue no one was around to hear, no-one but the angel himself. From the place where the rock broke away a pale colour emerged, unlike that of the stone encasing – the pale colour looked like skin and was corrupted with an ink rune...

_Angelic Power._

_(Lyric Credits: "Youth" by Daughter)_


	3. blindsided

undertow.

**Chapter Three**

The hallways of The Institute opened up in front of her like the never-ending catacombs of the Vatican City, vein like corridors branching off in every direction ending in room after room that that once been home to so many others like her. Her pale complexion complimented her jet black hair, it swished and swirled around her as she strode down the passage towards Jace's room. The inner walls of their sanctuary took the familiar form of a medieval castle; tall wooden doors as high as the ceiling, huge stone arches that dipped and curled at every doorway they greeted. Colourful curtains in all sorts of royal shades lined the windows and the carpet runners that coated every aisle. In the days when this place had been full and buzzing the colours had shone bright, dazzling even the failing few with colour blindness. Isabelle smiled at the memory. Lately though those colours seemed muted, even if ever so slightly, like they had grown tired of the Winter months, straining under the weight of the heavy grey clouds. Maybe it knew that there were only a few of them left, only a mere casting of the crowds that once danced under it's awnings.

Isabelle rounded the corner and flung open Jace's door greeting an empty room with a stunned "Hel... lo..." The room was perfect, nothing out of place. Bed made up, no clothes draped over bedsteads, shoes tucked under tables – or weapons balancing on chairs. She moved swiftly towards the bathroom and with a little knock opened that door too revealing nothing but clean bright white. "Jace.." she called, but when there was still no answer she left the room and headed in the direction of her own a sudden urgency to her step as her heart skipped a beat and plunged her whole body into a real sense of anxiety, flooding her stomach.

His training had not gone as he'd planned; when reaching back behind his head to pull an arrow from it's sheath all at once Alec had felt his shoulder muscles tighten and catch as it was tensed too tight. Grunting he whipped his arm down to his side – it was like numb jelly as it tingled and he pumped his fingers trying to force some blood back into his hand. When the pins and needles had subsided he stood up straight and immediately wished he hadn't. Knowing right away that he'd strained his trapezius muscle from the right side of his neck down between his shoulder-blades, somewhere completely out of reach for his stele and him to gain access to. Discarding the bow and arrows at his feet, Alec made his way out of the great hall and gingerly limped into the dark halls in the search of his sister.

Her room was just how she'd left it; the medicine's she'd bottled together for Jace's Winter aches lay untouched on her dresser. A dress Isabelle had picked out to wear that night at dinner cascaded over the back of an armchair it's hem ever so slightly creased. Her eyes surveyed the room taking everything in, the fireplace, bathroom door, neatly made bed, wide open window, snow sifting in and settling on the carpet. It took her two seconds to cross the room and fasten the sashes closing off the blistering cold wind. She wondered how long it had been open, she didn't remember opening it herself and in the back of her mind she wondered who had.

Isabelle turned slowly, or at least it felt like it was a million light years, because when she was back facing the room she saw something, out of the corner of her eye, that she had not seen before. Heart thudded loudly in her ears when she walked three steps to the edge of the bed - delicate fingers reaching out to touch a folded piece of paper laying lightly on the duvet cover, prevented from fluttering away by an object she recognised instantly...

Jace's stele.

"Jace..." she whispered, her voice strange, like that of a child – small and tiny like the day she met him, her new brother – she was 9, it was so new and odd and exciting all in one go, it was a life change for all the Lightwood children, one they had welcomed and eventually loved.

She turned slightly till she was perched lightly on the edge of the bed. Fingers stroked the paper scared to open it, her heart contributed fear to a massive lump in her throat cutting off her air supply. Notes like these, accompanied by personal items from the author never left you with a smile on your lips. Notes like these took a new kind of sorrow to the very depths of your soul... Taking a long deep breath Isabelle opened the letter... and all at once her legs gave way beneath her...

"ALECCC...!"

His sister's pained scream's resonance peeled down the hallways flinging into him with full force. "Isabelle!" his heart tensed, eyes wide and fearful... the ginger pursuit of his sister thrown by the wayside as the next minute he was running, sprinting down the corridors in the direction of her voice. Worry crept across his chest, tightening across his torso, restricting his lungs and still he pushed on ignoring the ache that enveloped his injured shoulder.

Faster still. If he could have flown, he would.

It was high pitched, heart-wrenching sobbing that Alec heard before he saw her. His little sisters form hidden by the bed frame – the only thing visible was her hand still on the carpet clutching an open letter. Alec was at her side in less than a heartbeat – brotherly love burned within his chest as his eyes took it all in. Isabelle, defeated beautiful Isabelle – heart shattered, eyes bleeding sorrow, mascara running down her pale cheeks, knees pulled up tight into her body, breathing ragged, coming in short, sharp gasps as she shed tear after tear.

Alec's heart broke.

"Isabelle?" his voice had cracked... and when her hand reached up and passed him the letter, it crumpled in his grip before he could read the scripted writing... Something inside Alec died right in that instant; not unlike the way something had died in Isabelle the moment that cry for her brother had rung out...

* * *

_My dear sister Isabelle_

_My brother... parabatai Alec,_

_My friends... my siblings... my heart... my home._

_This is not the end. But the beginning of something new I must travel to find._

_I've not been me for a while now and I'm sure deep down you knew, even if I did not tell you._

_I'm so very sorry I never said a word._

_I cannot begin to thank you for everything, because thanking you for everything would mean thanking you for so much more... and I only have a short time left._

_Isabelle; my stele is yours, you'll use it well and blue suits you from time to time._

_My brother; I couldn't take my seraph blades with me where I'm going so they're yours to take and use as you wish._

_If I could give you the piece of mind that I am alright I'd be right here doing it now._

_I am okay. And wherever I am it's where I'm meant to be..._

_Now to know you only in my memory.._

_Jace_

* * *

"_I was blindsided._

_Blinded."_

* * *

_(Lyric Credits: "Blindsided" & "Holocene" by Bon Iver)_


	4. rust

undertow.

**Chapter Four**

Clary stood; drenched, exhausted, body aching from head to toe in the shower. Near boiling hot water cascaded down her back turning it red raw as it came in contact with her skin. She'd not run the shampoo through her hair yet, her arms would not move when she attempted to lift them, the only reason she was still standing up was because her knees had locked straight and to kneel would require extra leg movement she didn't have the energy for. Her red skin shone brightly a match for her hair any day. She'd managed to stay awake for 3 days straight – the espresso & energy drink combination shooting caffeine through her veins for the last 72 hours – the tiredness was pulling at her eyelids lulling her into a false sense of security with its promise of dreamless sleep. But Clary knew that dreamless sleep was near impossible, especially with all she had playing on her mind lately, not to mention the way her mind seemed to give her a full and cruel dosage of everything that happened that fateful day she had lost her mom in horrific pin point detail. The hotter the shower had become, the more steam flooded the bathroom and when, unable to make it's escape through the gap under the door, it billowed up and around the compact room making it difficult to breathe anything but heated air. Clary's breathing became more hurried, till she struggled to take in the air she needed, she couldn't breathe. Trying not to panic, she turned towards the door and when the clasp jammed slightly everything flooded back to her hitting her full force...

* * *

_She'd been laughing with her mom about tongue-tied frogs from this children's show she's caught 5 minutes of before they left New York City for Hadley, NY – where her grandmother lived. She didn't even remember it being all that funny, but it was something that would stick with her, just like her mother's smile, her laughter and the way the countryside looked so pretty laced in all snow, her mom at the wheel Clary had drifted in and out of sleep as far as Albany, awoken with a prod, neck ache and dribble on her sweatshirt, her mom handed her coffee and they were on the road again, swishing through country back roads, the routes that showed all the seasons in such a beautiful array of colours. By the time they'd reached Saratoga Springs she could feel the caffeine hot wiring every nerve ending in her body – the blizzard joined them a few miles outside Corinth and by the time they drove over the bridge into Hadley, every scene was a different one entirely. Clary remembered looking down the side of the car out over the edge of the bridge and straight down into the icy waters, visually shivering at the thought... it was something she would remember now, now that every puzzle piece had fitted together._

_The blizzard had hurried them into grandma's house where around the fireplace there had been shared stories of generations, and when later that evening Luke turned up on the doorstep – her mother's face lit up, happy beyond words. That night Clary went to bed happy too, for tomorrow brought with it an early Christmas present._

_When her mother handed her the keys to the car it was the last thing Clary had expected it to be – at 15yrs of age she was due to take drivers ed when her next year of school started in September of the up and coming year. This was her mom and Luke's way of saying "We trust you enough to take the car out for a little drive (just a little one mind!)" and Clary knew she would say yes even before the words had made it out of her mouth. Whilst everything was clear in part up to this point in time, Clary recalled what happened in specific detail from the moment she sat behind that wheel, fingers pressing the key into the ignition. The morning was crisp, light and the whole world covered head to toe in white, beautiful, distracting white. Her mom sat in the front with her rhythmically tapping her fingers on the exposed metal around door handle. They'd sailed along, Clary's concentration pushed to the max and the blinding white of the snow giving her the start of a headache – her mother had given her little tips as they went and by the time they reached the bow bridge river crossing the sun was peeking in over the tops of the trees._

_Mom had warned her to be extra especially careful when taking the bend onto the bridge, to watch for signs of ice and take it slowly, no matter who was behind her or in front waiting to cross. The important thing was to cross and get to the other side. But neither of them had allowed for the sun dazzling them full on into the car's windscreen just as the front wheels had made contact with the bridge. When Clary had seen the ice, in the middle just above the highest part of the choppy river below, the sun didn't make any difference at all, and when they started to slide, Clary's inexperience overcompensated her wheel turn to make up for the ice pulling the car in the opposite direction..._

_They had glided for a while, Clary's heart remained in her mouth the entire time; her mom's hand was pressed into her thigh as if Jocelyn thought she could control their skid with her mind. When there was that one moment, that one aching moment that Clary thought they would be okay... the barrier had already given way to the bumper of their car and when they pitched forward free-falling into the freezing river Sacandaga._

_Clary didn't have time to scream._

_The car had struck the surface with such a force it pushed icy water deep down into her lungs, Clary's heart pounded in her ears as she struggled to breathe, still strapped to her seat, fingers fumbling with the seatbelt, terrified eyes searching for an escape, a small pocket of air, anything to clear her mind. The water was the biggest shock to the system Clary had ever felt – wild mind losing the will to survive in the enclosed sinking car when she looked to her right and saw just an empty seat she panicked further; where had her mom gone? She was sure she'd plunged over the edge with her in the seat next to her. But her mind was fuzzy now and her thinking blurred, was she drowning? Frantically she'd tried the door, jerking the handle again and again, nothing happened, the handle didn't budge and she was running out of time. Her fingers stopped searching for the release button, and her lungs burned, blinking slowly, when she opened her eyes again it felt like a million years later – there was something... someone floating around in front of her face and it took Clary a moment to figure out who it was;_

_Mom..!_

_The urgency in her mothers face as she unclipped her daughter and pulled her up towards the back of the car; air greeted her, forcing sharp oxygen into her body. She'd spluttered, coughed, gagged and breathed. Clary had reached for her mother, clinging to her with her life and sobbed never wanting to let go again; but her mothers urgency had not left her face and after only comforting her daughter for a few seconds, she pushed the girl up to the rear window, her eyes serious as she'd assured her she would be "right behind you" and all in a split second the window had burst and Clary swam, clawing at the murky water willing to see the surface, fighting the suck of the sinking car way below her now._

_It was her hand that had thrust through the surface first, still clawing when her head emerged it was followed by wheezing gasps of painfully cold air; blurry vision showed the bridge high above her, metal and wood hanging off the hole the car had made on impact. Treading water she'd waited for her mom to appear._

_She waited. _

_And waited.._

_Her panic increased, and she made a few desperate attempts to dive back down in search of her mom, but each duck and dive was harder than the last; each time she went down the water got darker, the sun never hit this part of the water in the Winter, and the bridge overshadowed everything. Every resurface Clary's lungs were pushed to the max as she called out for Jocelyn; each and every cry more urgent than the last – she'd kept this up until help had arrived, and until exhausted, semi conscious she was pulled from the water by the rescue crew. She'd woken up in hospital 2 days later – Luke's face had said it all, her mom was gone. _

_Her mom was gone, and she had killed her._

* * *

_"I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you.._

_Anywhere I would've followed you._

_You're the one that I love_

_And I'm saying goodbye.."_

* * *

_(Lyric Credit: "Say Something" by A Great Big World)_


	5. silhouette

undertow.

**Chapter Five**

Clary didn't go see her mom's grave the next day, nor the four days that followed that – when the flashback had hit her with such force that night in the shower it was Luke who had found her some 4 hours later, unconscious, bloody gash just below her hairline. It was Luke who'd forced her to stay in bed, denoting that rest was the best thing she could be doing right now as resting lead the way to recovery and recovery was what they both needed more than anything else. Clary had wanted to disagree, wanted to argue, kick up a fuss and be angry at him, but try as she might the energy involved in hating Luke was lost in her catch up of 3 days' missed shut eye.

By the time She made it down to the cemetery again the weather had turned bleak, it's grey clouds opened for hours at a time sending water plummeting down on the city below – the coat she wore was no match for this weather thrashing and by the time she reached the gates she was wet through and smelling not unlike a soaked dog. Cowering beneath the dark shapes of the creaking trees – the snow turned to black slush at her feet, rain destroying any trace it had ever been there, with just little of the white sprinkling a few tombstones at the back of the cemetery where the high city wall had protected them from the harsh weather.

Her legs automatically found her mom's plot and Clary pulled fresh flowers, beautiful pink daisies, from the inside of her coat and arranged them neatly at it's base. Curling up cross legged in front of the headstone Clary recounted everything that had happened the last couple of days as she did day in day out in that exact spot; talking animatedly with the air – with the angel next to her staring unblinkingly ahead, listening..

* * *

"_I'm tired of waking up in tears.._

_'cause I can't put to bed these phobias and fears._

_I'm new to this grief I can't explain.._

_but I'm no stranger to the heartache and the pain."_

* * *

"I love Luke..." She whispered as if her mom were standing next to her, "... and I'm so glad that I still have him, now that I've lost you..." Clary paused, glancing up at the angel's face momentarily, "But I've never felt more alone..." the ground became very interesting as she picked at the wet blades of grass and tried to hide the fact that she was crying. Weakness was never Clary's strong point, and yet weakness was all she showed lately; and the unfailing helpless appearance about her had driven all her "friends" away in matter of weeks after the accident. Her best friend had become herself and she spent more and more time alone or in the company of the graves that she sat between now.

* * *

"_The fire that I began is burning me alive..._

_I'm a silhouette..._

_Asking every now and then..._

_Is it over yet? Will I ever feel again?"_

* * *

The sky rumbled high above her, a white crack of light danced across the heavy rain clouds, the water drops getting thicker and thicker as another thunder growl peeled out closer this time. The hiss, then a loud sprint of lightning creased the skyline and Clary felt her limbs shake as the ground below her gave way to the sound. Quickly gathering her belongings; a quick kiss to her mom's headstone a small whisper; "I love you.." she pulled herself to her feet just as another thunder grumble hacked the heavens to pieces above her. Under the protection of the trees she took a step in the direction of the cemetery gates inches from the towering statue of the angel.

"**CRRRAAAAACCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK..!"**

The lightning bolt had hit directly above her, Clary didn't have time to realise what was happening before that almighty sound was joined by another... the sound of splintering wood. Hands flew up to protect her face and when the heavy branch peeled away from the tree's body it's downward decent was aiming directly for Clary's head. With not enough time to step out of the way, She tucked her whole body into a crouch, head dipped down, arms covering herself as best as they could and waited for the imminent pain she was sure would hit the back of her neck.

But when there was a thud and no pain followed, Clary gingerly unwrapped herself and hazarded a glance upwards... there, elevated above her was the statue, the stone angel; his face cracked, the wooden debris balancing between his wings still semi attached to the tree itself. Heart in her mouth Clary got to her feet, swallowing audibly as she surveyed the scene in front of her. His wings were still intact; their intricate feathers still carved in amazing detail. The fissure on his features stretched from his right eyebrow diagonally ending just above the join of his left upper lip. Clary bent down under his arm to stand directly in front of him. She noted his hair, the way it curved back sitting neatly against his shoulders. It didn't look like any statue she'd seen before – it's beauty was unprecedented, fresh and almost familiar. Reaching up, looking into those frozen eyes, her hand faltering inches away from it's cold surface as if unsure she should touch it just in case it came alive. She internally scolded herself – Statues didn't just come alive... They were made of stone; hard, solid stone – no way someone could be living under that.

When her hand pressed against his cheek she gasped; withdrawing it suddenly – the "cold" statue that stood before her in the lashing rain, was anything but cold. It's stone like texture had glowed under her touch, almost burning her palm – Clary, a look of bafflement on her face reached out to touch it again, this time only her fingers stroked the warm white stone, tracing the grove that had snapped it's nose in two narrowly missing it's eyes. She justified that the warmth was in fact a trick of her hand that had frozen in the storm as she'd talked at her mother's grave, he wasn't actually warm under her touch he was normal temperature and she was cold enough to assume he was hot under her touch. Glancing down now at his hands turned up towards the sky as if asking for forgiveness – she delicately placed in it her own, holding onto the fingers with her down... Her inner self felt bad for the poor thing, it would now remain disfigured for being in the right place at the right time... for catching the branch that could have so easily squashed her. As she pulled her hand away her pinkie caught the sharp broken edge of his thumb and for the seconds time in less than a week she bled deep red onto it's unstained white stonework; Clary flinched, pulling her hand up to her mouth as she staunched the sting and flow with her mouth.

Her eyes found it's face again, her pale skinned, bedraggled self dwarfed in it's magnificence - "Thank you..." she uttered then smiled to herself when she realised how silly it was her saying thank you to an inanimate object. Grabbing her belongings she ducked out under the statue's arm and made her way to the cemetery gates; her mind stuck on the near miss she had just had – how in the last two months she'd had two near misses, two very horrible things happen that she had just walked away from, it wasn't a coincidence was it? Clary had found herself so deep in thought that when she left and crossed the road to begin her journey home, her distracted mind didn't see the truck that thundered towards her, it's frantic driver blaring the horn, pumping the air brake that did nothing in the pouring rain but mean he started to skid... and the direction he was skidding barrelled it's path straight into her.

Everything happened in slow motion... Even Clary's scream that had shattered the air was slowed down to the nth degree...

_"I'm going to die..."_ was Clary's last thought before everything went black...

* * *

_(Lyric Credit: "Silhouettes" by Owl City)_


End file.
